


Maintaining Appearances

by Vector



Category: Baccano!, Persona 3
Genre: Community: no_true_pair, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-06
Updated: 2008-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-02 15:42:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vector/pseuds/Vector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For prompt: <i>Akihiko and Firo play a game or sport together.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Maintaining Appearances

Firo had been maintaining appearances really well up until then, he thought. He was a normal person. A college student in Japan—a little bit quirky, but then, he was a foreigner. Not too exceptional in anything. Certainly no sign that he was nearly a hundred years old; not even signs that he'd been a Camorra executive for years. He got along with his classmates on those terms. He'd been enjoying sharing an apartment with Akihiko on those terms.

But then—well, the other guy had thrown the first punch. Firo, admittedly, probably could have gotten out of the situation without that happening, but the guy was a muscle-bound idiot mocking Firo's lineage, and Firo still hated being underestimated.

His instincts acted before his mind. When the guy's fist came at him, he turned away, like he was trying to avoid it, then just kept turning, and landed a strike across the back of the guy's neck before he knew what was coming.

As the guy collapsed, Firo thought _crap, _because he could see Akihiko's eyes widening at him out of the corner of his vision, and that meant questions.

"Hey, Firo, that wasn't bad." And here it came. "You never told me you could fight."

"I, uh, yeah." Firo put a hand behind his head and ducked a bit, wishing the guy he'd hit would be less conspicuously out cold. "A bit. Nothing formal."

Akihiko's eyebrows raised. "Oh yeah? Where'd you pick it up?"

"Different places." Great, that doesn't sound suspicious at _all_. "Just, uh, some friends, when I was younger." Good enough. Time to change the subject—

"Huh. You should come spar with me sometime."

_Dammit_. Firo had been hoping he wouldn't say that. There's no way he'd be able to hide his skills completely in a real match. He should say no, even if it means having to come up with some reason to explain it.

...But he's seen Akihiko come back from practice every week—from matches, even—unbruised and sometimes completely unsatisfied with his fights, and he can't really say he hasn't wished...

"Yeah, sure," Firo finds himself saying with a smile.

"Cool. How about after my Tuesday practice? You can come by the gym and borrow some gear."

Firo nods. "Practice is over at nine, right? I'll be there." _Dammit_.

***

The rest of the boxing team is filtering out by the time Firo gets there, some of them looking exhausted; Akihiko's hanging back, bouncing a bit, keeping himself warm. He's getting a few looks from the others for it. Firo picks an out of the way corner to stretch out some in, trying to ignore everyone else—as well as the way his pulse is jumping a bit in anticipation.

Firo must have managed better than he thought, because when looks up Akihiko's dropping sparring gear in front of him, and he hadn't even noticed him break his routine.

"About ready?" Akihiko's grinning.

Firo grins back and reaches over. He's never worn foam-padded boots, gloves and headgear like these—putting them on is fairly straightforward, but Akihiko must have noticed him hesitate.

"I'll go easy on you, to start. After all, I don't want to have to carry you back to our place." He says wryly.

"We'll see about that. I'm just a little rusty, that's all." That might even be true. Firo hasn't fought for real in a while—maybe he _will_ be rusty enough. He fastens the last velcro strap under his chin. "Ready."

"Alright." Akihiko walks towards the center of the room, and Firo follows. "You said you had no formal training?"

"That's right," Firo says, warily.

"Let's just have some simple rules, then. No strikes to the face or below the belt. Blows to the torso are one point; to the head are two." He taps one glove against the side of his own headgear to demonstrate.

"Sounds good." Firo shifts his weight a bit, gets used to the give of the matted floor. "How many points are we fighting to?"

"Depends on how you do." Akihiko sounds excited. "Let's go a few rounds and see?"

Firo's excited about this too, which means it's almost definitely a bad idea. Too late now, though. He takes a stance. "Ready when you are."

Akihiko grins at him once more, then throws a punch—just a slow testing jab. Firo dodges to one side easily. Another jab comes, then a cross, quicker this time, but it's still easy to move out of the way. A few more punches and Firo's got the rhythm of it back.

"Not bad," Akihiko says, as he pauses.

"Hey now, I haven't even done anything yet." Akihiko's good, Firo can tell—his punches are measured, controlled. No obvious openings.

He lets Akihiko throw a few more punches before he tries something—a move almost like the other night; block Akihiko's cross and catch his arm across his body, then try and turn to catch him with a backhand while his head is still unguarded. Akihiko's too quick for it, though; he ducks down below Firo's arm, and when he comes back up it's with an uppercut towards Firo's midsection that he only barely manages to catch.

It all happens ridiculously fast, as if choreographed, and even though neither of them got any points out of it Firo feels his pulse pounding.

They both break away.

"That's it, then," Akihiko says, voice rough from breathing hard. "No holding back."

Firo's breath catches for a second, and then he _moves_. He has to, because Akihiko's coming at him again, _fast_. Firo dodges, then mounts his own attack—jab and cross, which Akihiko avoids easily—as Firo expected. So he just keeps the motion going into a spinning hook kick, and Akihiko's eyes widen as he has to stagger further back out of the way.

Akihiko's not thrown off for long, though, lunging back in to try and catch Firo while his weight is still off-balance from his kick. Firo gets an arm down in time to block, but his foot hits the floor gracelessly and shudders back a bit from the impact. Akihiko presses his advantage—

"Oi! You two!"

\- and then breaks off, as a voice cuts into their fight. Firo grits his teeth.

"Sanada-san, I need to lock up. Are you about done here?"

"No," Akihiko grunts under his breath. Then, aloud, "Uh, yeah, I guess so. Give me a few minutes to stow our gear?"

"Sure." The guy heads back out of the room.

Akihiko sighs. "Sorry about that, Firo. Can we pick this back up another time?"

Firo's blood is beating hard, and he wants to say _no, now, come on_. Only the fact that Akihiko sounds as frustrated about it as he feels stops him. "Yeah. Anytime. Tomorrow, maybe."

Akihiko pulls off his headgear. His hair is damp with sweat. "I can't wait. You're good—it'll be the best fight I've had in a long time."

At least for right now, Firo is okay with that, even if he's not maintaining appearances. More than okay—he can feel the excitement already. "Same."


End file.
